


Judges of Character

by chiaroscure



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Recovery, Suicide Attempt Reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure
Summary: Reflections from and about George and Sybbie, on the subject of Thomas at the end of the series: their friend seemed awfully sad before he fell ill, and their parents have been using the word "alright" a bit too much for comfort lately.
Relationships: George Crawley & Mary Crawley, Sybbie Branson & George Crawley, Sybbie Branson & Tom Branson, Thomas Barrow & George Crawley, Thomas Barrow & Sybbie Branson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 170





	Judges of Character

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MovieBuff_BookLover_4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovieBuff_BookLover_4/gifts).



When Mary philosophises to herself on the subject of parenthood, Tom is most often to blame for setting her off. But this afternoon as she watches George rolling a toy train across the floor, it is Barrow to whom her thoughts repeatedly drift.

She knows what she needs to know about Barrow — perhaps even more than she _needs_ to know; he has long been of higher interest to her than the majority of the Abbey’s staff. Still, while she is familiar with his above and below stairs temperaments, his particular skillsets, and even a few details about his personal life, she now realises that she has never considered him in the context of a _family_. And why would she have? The servants’ family lives are hardly her business.

Furthermore, it is not at all unusual for servants sometimes to interact with their employers’ children. Mary can testify to that from her own life’s experiences, so there is no reason for her to take special note of any of the staff amusing her son. 

It is just so unexpected that George’s favourite should be _Barrow_.

“George, darling,” she hears herself say from some false, echoing distance. He looks up at her, with clear eyes he did not get from her. “You and Barrow were having fun earlier.”

Her words taste like a question, though they do not sound like one. George grants her a smile.

“He lets me play racing, and pilots, and all sorts of things,” he chimes. “I cheer him up.”

Yes, Barrow did say something to that effect earlier. “Has he told you that before, dearest?”

George shakes his head. “No, but I know I do. He’s sad when he comes up to play with us sometimes, and then he’s happier.”

“Why do you say that he’s sad?”

“I asked him once. Why is he sad, Mama?”

Why indeed. She has never given prolonged thought to why Barrow might or might not be sad — or happy, in any meaningful way. She has never had much occasion to consider it. But she would have to be much duller than she is not to discern that an imminent job loss and a chronically solitary life might make a person sad. Barrow has always seemed more prone to temper than melancholy, but Mary understands the value of anger to shield softer sorts of unhappiness. But one does not use such a shield with children, if it is in fact a shield, so perhaps Barrow is sad, for some reasons she can and cannot guess, and her son has caught onto something the rest of her family has not yet.

“I don’t know, darling. I am glad to hear that you and he can have fun together; I am sure you are cheering him up wonderfully. You are very good at that.”

He glows at her praise and she squeezes his hands before letting him go. She watches him return to his train, herself still perched on the chair. Spending time with George does always warm her; she had previously believed that was just motherly affection, but perhaps he does have a gift for cheering up sullen people. Her mouth curves into a soft smile as she wonders how exactly one plays at racing, and whether doing that would make her son’s talents even more obvious. Perhaps she should try it some time

She believes George that Barrow is sad, and she does give it a passing thought when her eyes fall on him at dinner that night. But she has other things on her mind, and the servants are owed their own private joys and griefs without the family prying. She trusts George’s skill, and she trusts Barrow to manage his own affairs professionally. And so, she trusts, everything will sort itself out.

*

Adults seem very complicated to George. When he is upset, he tells whoever is there and they help him. Sybbie does the same. It is very simple, and so he thinks it strange that adults often do other more confusing things when _they_ are sad.

Barrow is sad. That much is clear. Barrow even admitted it to him once, when George asked. Naturally, George then asked why, because that is what you ought to do when someone says they are sad, but Barrow just shook his head and told him it was fine.

That does not seem right to George. Barrow is his friend, and he wants to help him just like people help George when he is sad, but how is he supposed to do that when he doesn’t know what is the matter? This is a very unfair mystery, it seems to him. But he does not bring it up, because he has heard Mama tell people that she doesn’t want to talk about it when she is upset, so he knows that sometimes talking must not help, though he cannot understand why.

But George knows some tricks for making people feel better. Things people have done for him when he’s been sad. He knows to bring interesting objects for Barrow to look at (George has saved a pretty feather he found on a walk, and some flowers too, and he is taking up drawing so he will have things to show even when there is nothing good to be picked up on the grounds), and to smile and tell jokes (he doesn’t know many jokes yet but he can make up his own; Nanny says they’re good and Barrow always likes them), and to fix Barrow’s hair (Barrow’s hair is always tidy but Nanny and Mama always gently fix George’s when he’s been upset and it usually makes him feel better). He is sure there are other things too but he can’t remember them all; he will have to pay more attention next time someone comforts him. He will wait, and maybe some day Barrow will tell George what is making him sad so that George will be able to do something to fix it properly.

*

“Why are you upset?”

Tom doesn’t know what to say. He should lie, surely. He doesn’t know how to lie to George’s earnest eyes. He doesn’t know how to lie to a child who looks more distressed every second he says nothing. Where is Mary? Why isn’t anybody here with him?

He thought this would be a good idea, to come see the children, to get away from the Crawleys, who all know, who are all strained. Whose responses are so understandable but somehow so foreign, too. It’s not as real to them, somehow, as it is to him.

George is perhaps six seconds from crying.

“Nobody’s upset, Georgie.”

The words are awful to say. The must be awful to hear too, because George’s lip trembles.

“You are. You are upset. I _know_ you are.”

George might cry. Tom doesn’t know what he’s going to do if George cries right now.

Sybbie goes to take George’s hand, and when she does, he leans into her for comfort. She’s not going to cry, probably, but she looks concerned. Maybe frightened, a little. It’s one thing — one awful, impossible thing — to lie to George, but Tom can’t lie to Sybbie. He just can’t, even though he must.

He sits in front of them and pulls them both to him. George sniffles into his shoulder. Sybbie is quiet.

“It’s alright, loves,” he says. “Everybody’s a bit upset, but it’s nothing to do with you, it’s going to be fine. Don’t you worry over it. It’ll be alright.”

He holds them until he’s sure George isn’t going to cry. None of the Crawleys mentioned what they wanted to tell the children; they probably didn’t think they would need to tell them anything for some time yet. But children notice — _these_ children notice — and _these_ children are fond of Barrow, of Thomas, Tom’s heard it from both of them, heard it from their nanny, seen them playing together with him, even, once or twice.

Carson said most of the staff would be told it was the flu. Some flu that will last a month at least, with none of the usual symptoms of flu…but the children, though perceptive, will not know enough about flu to how strange it is. It’s awful to say it; it’s awful to lie to them about someone they love, about anything at all, but the truth would be worse.

“Mr Barrow has the flu,” Tom says, smiling through the guilt. “You won’t see him for a while, but he’ll be well soon.”

Dr Clarkson said he would recover, so Tom tries to comfort himself with the idea that it's only the first part of what he said that’s a lie. But he looks at Sybbie, and can’t help but remember that doctors are not always correct.

*

Sybbie doesn’t know much about the flu. She's had head colds, but she can’t remember anybody she knows having the flu before. There was a bad flu a few years ago, which she knows because Grandmama told her once that she had it.

Da says Barrow will be alright, but the only thing Sybbie knows about the flu is that it’s scary, and the way people have been acting has not made her feel much better.

She wants to visit Barrow to make sure he’s alright, but recently she learnt about germs, and so she doubts she would be allowed to go, in case she got sick too. George told her that he wants to visit him but he has also heard about germs, so they agree not to ask Nanny yet, at least until everyone stops acting so strangely.

They do, however, agree to make cards for Barrow to explain to him that they want him to get well. They give their cards to Nanny, who will make sure they get to Barrow. Sybbie and George don’t hear back from him, but they do receive a note from Grandmama’s maid thanking them for their kindness, and promising to give their cards to Mr Barrow as soon as he is well enough to read them.

Sybbie decides they probably ought to write more, because if Barrow is so ill he can’t even read cards he should have a great many to look at when he finally can. She's not sure if other people are writing to him, so she and George write cards and draw pictures every day before lunch and wait, eagerly but patiently, to hear back.

*

The abstract idea of visiting a man who has recently made an attempt on his own life does not appeal very much to Mary, for the central reason that she does not believe that she would be much help. One is presumably expected to express one’s appreciation for the man in question, offer comforting words, behave in a kind and cherishing manner so as to assure him of his life’s importance. It is the sort of thing at which Sybil would excel, but Mary cannot imagine, in the abstract, that her presence would help anyone in such a position.

However, she also would not have imagined that Thomas Barrow would ever be in such a position, and not going to visit him would be absurd. Though her conviction that she must go does not make her surer of how she will fare once she is actually in the room with him.

She is taking George, which will help. George will be a good buffer for her, and, to be frank, George is likely to be a more welcome guest than she is. If Mary herself were in Barrow’s position, she would rather be called upon by George than by herself.

Perhaps it is unfair to rely on George so heavily to protect her from her own discomfort. He is only four years old; he has no experience with badly injured people. He has some experience with depressive adults (a fact about which Mary feels some lingering guilt), but this is a new situation. She has no idea what to expect when they arrive in the attic; Anna has given her some updates, but it is Baxter who has been spending the most time with Barrow, and Mary rarely speaks to her. Barrow’s sadness might have taken on an entirely new character since the last time she, or George, saw him; there is no telling what sort of state he will be in, or how hard it will be on George to see.

It is with somber trepidation that Mary goes to fetch her son from the nursery when the time comes. George is dressed neatly, as she requested, and the nanny passes him over with a grey face. George’s smile sparkles when Mary reaches for his hand, only for her to notice that he is holding an orange.

“What’s this?” she asks, making an effort to keep her voice light.

“Barrow,” _Baww-ow_ — the sharpness of the name curves with George’s rhoticism, “said he always ate oranges at Christmas when he was my age.”

“That is lovely, darling.” She strokes the back of his head. “Is it Christmas, though?”

“No,” George replies as if she is being silly, turning the orange between his hands and looking up at her. “He’s ill so he should have something special, and Christmas things are special.”

They start on the stairs, George marching forward with no sign of nervousness, and Mary’s earlier trepidation disappears. George will be fine, and so she will be fine. He knew Barrow was sad long before anyone else was whispering about it. Now, he seems to know how to behave around him before they are even in the same room. He might really have a gift for this, Mary thinks. It would not surprise her.

*

George wonders if people can fall ill from being sad. He knows they can from being around people who are ill, from bad food, yes, from cold, yes, from injury, yes. But he has never heard of anyone catching anything just from being upset…though he has wondered sometimes about Mama.

He starts being allowed to visit Barrow more often, for longer, which is good. Nanny takes him up but then goes back downstairs so that he can sit in the attic bedroom with Barrow and usually also Baxter. Barrow still seems sad, but, as before, he cheers up when George is there.

“Are you still sad?” he asks one day.

“It’s alright Master George,” Barrow reassures him. George wishes people would stop telling him that things are alright.

“It’s not alright, if you’re sad,” he insists. “If you are sad you ought to tell me, so that I can help.”

George wonders if he’s said something interesting, because Barrow looks at him like he has for several moments before replying.

“I’ve told Miss Baxter. Is that enough for right now?”

“Is she helping?”

“Very much.”

“Then yes.”

Barrow smoothes George’s hair and looks at Baxter, who is in her usual place in the other cot. It is good that Barrow has told her even if he will not tell George; Baxter doubtless knows more than George does about adult things anyway, and so she can probably help more.

*

“Will he be happy, Da?” Sybbie asks Tom the day Thomas Barrow leaves to start his new job away from Downton.

“Of course he will, darling,” Tom replies. Lying to her has, unfortunately, gotten easier in the last few weeks, though he still feels often that she can see right through him.

It might not be a lie. Thomas might well be happy. He has a better chance of being alright now than he did a month ago. Those were true smiles just now, when Sybbie hugged him, when he picked up George. Tom can see the fragile hope Thomas has scraped together in the short, _short_ time he’s had to mourn himself. 

But there will be no Sybbie and no George to make him smile like that at the Stiles’. He might find something else to do the trick, but there’s no guarantee of it. Sybbie, young as she is, must know that Thomas’s happiness is not certain, or else she would not have asked. Tom smiles to give her some reassurance that Thomas will be happy.

And he _might be_. And George might hire him back once he’s in charge, if Thomas is still in service, or if he leaves, George and Sybbie, and perhaps Marigold by then, might take up visiting him wherever he works. There are endless ways things could turn out for Thomas; Tom is not sure how much Sybbie’s prayers do, but if he had his way, everything she asks for on behalf of his one-time rival would be answered in an instant.

So he tells himself it’s not a lie, and hopes that Sybbie can see that he at least half-believes what he’s just told her.

*

Sybbie and George decide together to write to Barrow at his new house. They do not write so often as they did when he was ill, but sometimes they miss him and it just seems the thing to do. Once, they even asked Baxter to help them, because they both agreed that she and Barrow are probably friends.

It is not the same now he’s gone. Baxter is kind and Andrew (who has been to see them a couple of times) is funny, and George and Sybbie both understand that people are not always there, and that sometimes people move away, but it’s not the same. Barrow writes back when he can and his short letters are happy enough, and they are happy for him, but it’s not the same, and they wish it were.

*

It is interesting, Mary thinks, that a man can be a wonderful husband, a responsible caregiver, and an attentive playmate, and still not quite click with a child. This should not surprise her; people’s social graces are rarely appreciated by all others; a man might also be celebrated in the city but merely hosted in the country, or the most charming thing in the world to one woman but only a pleasant chap to another. A man should not be expected to be perfect friends with every child just because he likely would be to many. 

Henry will be a fantastic father some day, and Carson is dearer to Mary than nearly anybody, and both do beautifully with George, but her son does not brighten with them as he does with some people. It is a pity Barrow had to leave, she muses; George is a cheerful boy, but not everybody makes him happy the way Barrow seemed to. She is glad Edith has invited him to her wedding; perhaps he will find some time to play with George while they are both there.

*

Mr Carson has been at constant battle with himself since Mr Barrow returned to Downton Abbey, two parts of his mind pitted against each other at every moment. At first it was only when he was in direct dialogue with his successor-to-be, but as time has passed, the doubt has proven to be worst when he is alone with his thoughts in his office.

_He cannot do this job._

_I trained him to do this job._

_He cannot do this job._

_He is competent, and he is professional, and he has learnt his lessons, numerous though they have been._

_He_ cannot _do this job._

 _He has not been tested; it remains to be seen if he_ can _do this job._

_He is heartless and twisted and mean, and he cannot do this job._

_Some heart he has proven he has, but is it sufficient? He is not so mean as he once was, but can he love this family? Can he ever respect him as he must? No matter how well I train him, can he do my job?_

Mr Thomas Barrow intercepts Master George, who is on the stairs. Lady Mary’s son beams at him, and explains something that Mr Carson cannot hear from his office as he watches. Mr Barrow listens, and gestures at the door at the top of the stairs as if to suggest to Master George that he should return to his nanny, but it is clear his heart is not in the suggestion, so the charade is short-lived.

Mr Barrow lifts Master George off the stairs and swoops him, laughing, into the hallway, then into the kitchen. Mr Carson quietly and deliberately follows them, not intending to spy so much as to observe. He is not nosy or even curious, he tells himself; he is merely noting his protegé’s behavior with the family that he serves.

Master George is held up so that he might be part of a conversation with Mrs Patmore and Daisy. The boy has not stopped grinning since he set eyes on Mr Barrow. Mr Carson cannot imagine why; he would not imagine anyone being so delighted to be in Thomas’s presence. Just the same, Master George is happy, and the family’s happiness is the priority, mystifying though its causes might be. Mr Carson can see from his vantage point that Master George is distracted from Mrs Patmore’s apparent skepticism by a tray of lemon biscuits sitting atop the counter in front of him, but Mr Barrow seems inattentive to this fact, speaking with great focus to Daisy as if the heir to this estate is not at his side with a little arm around the back of his neck.

It is not long before Mr Carson must steal back to his original position in his office. Mr Barrow excuses himself and takes Master George back to the stairs, slinging him down in a manner Mr Carson would like to describe as ‘inconsiderate’ although ‘playful’ is more accurate. A lemon biscuit is produced from some hiding place on Mr Barrow’s person, and Master George exclaims in delight as is it put into his hands. Mr Barrow shushes the boy, and Mr Carson wants to be indignant at both the blatant display of theft in front of Lady Mary’s impressionable son and at the presumptiveness of shushing a future earl, but he cannot quite manage it. It is many years since he entertained Lady Mary’s childhood plots, but he thinks of them so often and so fondly that he must acknowledge he would be a hypocrite to criticize Thomas for this now. Master George takes a bite of the biscuit, still smiling brightly, and this time accepts Mr Barrow’s suggestion that he return upstairs to Nanny.

Mr Barrow watches until the door closes. When he turns, he notices what Mr Carson noticed a moment before him: that Miss Baxter has come in from the servants’ hall. She smiles gently. Hers lacks the pure sunshine of Master George’s smile, but it has the same fondness. There is a short exchange between them; Mr Carson hears snatches of words, which is enough for him to know that it is an explanation of Master George’s presence. Miss Baxter smiles all the more for this and touches her hand to Mr Barrow’s cheek. She is perhaps the only person in the household capable of making Mr Barrow drop his gaze bashfully, which he does now, though he looks somehow proud too.

Mr Carson becomes aware that he has himself been the object of someone’s scrutiny when Elsie emerges from around the corner. His wife says nothing, only raises her eyebrows and goes on her way. He cannot bring himself to scowl at her expression that says, _I told you so_.

It is important — _vital_ — for a butler to have a good relationship with the family he serves. And there is no better way of ensuring that suitable bonds develop in both directions than by finding a butler of whom the family’s children are fond, who is himself fond of the family’s children. A man can only do so much wrong when he cares for the children to whom he must always answer. The rest tends to fall into place neatly, in Mr Carson’s experience.

Thomas Barrow will never replace Charles Carson with any amount of training, of that one can be sure, but Mr Carson has not been the only person training him and the children have, it seems, been more than adequate instructors. So perhaps Mr Barrow can do this job well, in his own way. It will take some getting used to, but Mr Carson trusts Master George and Miss Sybbie even while he still cannot bring himself to trust his own successor.

Crawley children have always been excellent judges of character, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I gotten Sybbie and George at the right level of Theory of Mind development and/or language mastery for their ages? I don’t super know! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @[sinaesthete](http://sinaesthete.tumblr.com)


End file.
